Bells
by Honeyfish
Summary: Medusa's field exercises are interesting, but the city is so cold.
1. Chapter 1

_I wrote this over Christmas. It's not very cheery, and may or may not ever be finished._

_-Nir_

It's cold. Medusa has gone, but she said she would check up every once in a while. They were standing on a tall building, taller than any building Chrona had ever seen, and Medusa told Chrona what today's exercise would be.

You see those men on the sidewalks? The ones wearing red and ringing the bells?

There are lots of them, Chrona. I want you to kill them all and have Ragnarok eat their souls. If you do not get every one of them, or if you allow yourself to be caught, you will sleep outside tonight.

It's still cold. The man in the red suit is across the street with his bell, the street which is clogged with cars like clots in an artery. They are slow, and the time to cross never seems to come. People pass, paying no mind to the child who waits for the cars to stop and idly taps dirty snow into the gutter with the end of a boot. Why would they? It's peaceful now. There's no need to interrupt that.

Finally, there's a gap. Chrona darts forward, urged on by the cars' petulant honking. The man is close, the ringing of his bell rising above the murmur of the people on the sidewalk and the growling of the cars. There's more to the exercise than making Medusa happy and getting to sleep indoors. This man and his bell are the key to being strong, and not having to be afraid. Chrona would like to think that he isn't scary, but he is. Everyone is. If he were to turn around and yell, Chrona would run and never be able to come back.

Chrona waits. Some people look over, but there's nothing remarkable about the skinny kid in the black sweatshirt. The man is still looking away. It has to be done soon. It has to be done _now_. The force of Ragnarok's liquid form slices a hole in the back of his host's clothing, a dark and shapeless mass that quickly gains shape and comes to rest in Chrona's hand. The weapon, once so small and toylike has grown long and lean with its wielder over the eight years they have existed together, but their symbiotic bond is no less strong, as twisted as its fibers may be.

Ragnarok screams as Chrona raises his blade, making the people on the sidewalk duck and run for cover, their hands clasped over their ears. Why do they lean over like that? Are they expecting a giant bird to swoop down on them? Or a dragon? It's a few years too early for the dragon, but the desired effect is achieved and Chrona runs Ragnarok's point into the space below the man's left shoulder blade. The sword's vibration shatters the bones easily before moving on to the heart, and the first bell-ringing man has fallen.

A little blue flame drifts free of his body and hangs there for a moment. The screaming has stopped and some of the sidewalk people stare at it until Ragnarok vacuums it up. Then Chrona has to run from the grasping hands of the sidewalk people. The first one is always the easiest, because nobody is looking or expecting anything to happen. Now they'll all be scared, and the other bell men might hear about it and disappear. Now Chrona will have to move more quickly.

Luckily, the street is crowded and easy to get lost in. The cold air gets in through the new hole in Chrona's sweatshirt, but it's bearable for now. Ragnarok has to return now too, because people will be looking for someone with a sword. His metal body has gotten chilly now, and it's going to hurt to let him back inside. Like the worst cold headache ever, only all over your body.

There's an alleyway, and Chrona quickly ducks inside it. Another man is in the alley, but he doesn't have a bell. He sees Ragnarok and the blood and he's scared, but probably not as scared as Chrona is of him and the possibility of having to kill him and waste more time. Ragnarok goes back inside before Chrona can do anything, making his host scream and double over at the sudden icy pain. This scares the man and he runs, saving Chrona the trouble of having to decide whether to kill him or not.


	2. Chapter 2

_This is technically the third chapter in the story, but the second one refuses to come out, so here you go. In keeping with my personal canon, Chrona is referred to as 'it' in this chapter. It's less awkward than going "Chrona Chrona Chrona" all the time._

_-Nir_

The sun always goes down early when it was cold. Right now it sits on top of only the shortest buildings, glinting an eye-piercing orange off the windows of the skyscrapers.

Chrona shivers, keeping the sweatshirt it wears tucked close to its body. The sweatshirt belonged to an earlier victim, a man easily four or five times the tiny child's size. The bagginess of it makes it hard to keep cold air from getting in, and there's no way to close up the hole Ragnarok made earlier.

There are no more men with bells. Chrona has scared them all off and only managed to get one. Medusa will be disappointed, and Chrona will have to sleep outside in worse cold than this.

How long has it been since Medusa left them here? The sun was high then, and the sky was light blue. Now it's purple, orange where it meets the sun. Fatigue and weakness have begun to settle on Chrona's limbs; the consequences of nonstop running on an empty belly. The smell of food from the street vendors' carts is maddening, but Chrona can't let itself be seen. Everybody knows, now. Everybody's looking for them. Chrona has failed, but Medusa isn't coming back yet. If they stay there, someone will find them for sure, but it's so hard to keep moving when you're so tired and cold.

Ragnarok says they should steal. The food is right there in the open. It would be so easy to just grab something and run away before anyone noticed. Chrona worries they won't be fast enough, but Ragnarok is hungry too and won't take no for an answer. From their hiding place behind a dumpster, Chrona can see a vendor very close by. He's selling something in little bags, striped red and white. It smells sweet.

Now go, Ragnarok says, and Chrona darts out, not looking at anything but the cart. It's the same height as Chrona is, making it difficult to see just what they're grabbing, but Chrona's fingers manage to fasten around one of the small bags the man has sitting on the counter.

Hey, kid! The man shouts, but Chrona knows it would be deadly to turn around now. The bag is warm, comforting, the heat almost like a living body's. But they're not safe yet. The man could be chasing them. So Chrona runs, fear of capture providing enough adrenaline to power its tired body another few hundred yards.

Finally, Chrona comes to a stop, simply because it cannot run any longer. They're in a park, kneeling on the scrubby winter grass under the leafless trees. There's a small bridge nearby. The stream that was once beneath it is mostly dry. Chrona ducks underneath. The contents of the bag have gone cold, but it's okay. It's food, the first in many hours. Ragnarok is slathering in anticipation. Open it, he says. Chrona does.

The bag is not full of peanuts. It is full of smelly, crumpled tube-shaped objects. Cigarette butts.

Ragnarok curses.

It is another four hours before Medusa comes.


End file.
